Unlucky Number Thirteen
by tutncleo
Summary: It's Friday, the 13th. Part 13 in the "Home Is..." series. Tony/Gibbs slash.


**Unlucky Number Thirteen – "Home Is… Series"**

** "Home is not where you live, but where they understand you." Christian Morgenstern**

**_And in honor of Salinger, one of my favorite writers, who died this week: _**_**"I don't really deeply feel that anyone needs an airtight reason for quoting from the works of writers he loves, but it's always nice, I'll grant you, if he has one." J. D. Salinger in Seymour: An Introduction**_

The front door slammed open and Tony stomped through, sliding his backpack off his shoulder and tossing it in the general direction of the old oak coat rack that was tucked in the corner. Not even bothering to see where it landed, he headed towards the den. Gibbs followed Tony into the house at a much more sedate pace. After shutting the door, he thumbed through the pile of envelopes in his hand, reading to see who they were from. Determining that nothing needed immediate attention, he placed the mail he was holding on the small table by the door. Glancing to his right, he saw the back pack sitting on the floor, a few feet away from the coat rack. Shaking his head, he started to bellow for Tony, then, seeming to think better of it, he sighed and crossed over to the pack, picked it up and carried it over to the coat rack. After he'd hung his sports jacket on one of the arms of the rack, he stood still, looking around. When he heard the sound of tires squealing and guns firing coming from the den, he headed in that direction.

Tony sat in the middle of the plaid couch, legs stretched out in front him and propped up on an old ottoman, game controller in his right hand. Two animated cars, complete with gangsters hanging out the windows and shooting at each other, were visible on the television hung over the mantle.

"Damn it," Tony muttered when the car in front blew a tire and skidded out of control. Gibbs watched as he frantically punched his thumb on the various buttons. A loud bang pulled his attention away from Tony, and he glanced up in time to see the lead car burst into flames.

"Shit!" Tony cursed, "That just figures." He pressed a few more buttons, then threw the controller onto the cushion next to him, as the images on the TV screen transformed into the local news. "Don't know why I expected it to go well."

Gibbs decided to ignore that remark. "Thought it was your turn to make dinner?"

"Do you really want to risk that?" Tony swung around so he could see him better. "Guess you must not be very hungry."

"You need to let this go," Gibbs said sternly. "It's just a pile of superstitious bullshit."

"Easy for you to say," Tony said, holding up his left hand, which was swathed in gauze, leaving only his fingers sticking out, and waved it in the air.

"That was a freak accident," Gibbs said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Could have happened to anyone."

"But it didn't 'happen to anyone,' did it?" Tony demanded, imitating Gibbs' tone when he asked the question. "It happened to me. And we both know why that was."

"Because it's Friday the 13th?" Gibbs scoffed. "That's a load of crap."

"Apollo 13 launched at 13:13 CST. Airplanes don't have a 13th aisle. There are 13 steps to the gallows, and Lizzy Borden only uttered 13 words at her trial."

"Planning on hacking me to death while I sleep, Tony?" Gibbs snorted.

"Very funny, Jethro. I'll have you know that even the ancient Romans viewed the number 13 as a symbol of death, destruction, and misfortune," Tony said self-righteously.

"So what, when in Rome?" Gibbs snarked. When Tony whirled back around to face the television, turning his back on him, Gibbs laughed out right.

Tony's only answer was to lean over and snatch the TV controller off of the side table, and start to flip through the channels.

"Ya know, it's been the 13th for everyone else today, too," Gibbs finally said reasonably.

"Yeah, but how many others had to swerve to avoid hitting a black cat while they were backing out of their driveway this morning? I was screwed before the day even really began," Tony announced dramatically.

Unable to resist, Gibbs said, "Actually, I think it was the trash can that was screwed." When Tony had veered off the drive in his effort to keep from running over the cat, he'd managed to hit the trash can that was sitting next to the curb, beside the drive. They'd then had to stop to pick up the garbage bags which had spilled out when the now severely dented can had fallen onto its side, spilling out its contents. "Come on, let's go fix supper."

Tony clicked off the television, and together they went into the kitchen. While Gibbs unloaded the dishwasher, Tony washed two potatoes and wrapped them in foil. He then got two chicken breasts out of the refrigerator, put them in a pan, threw some Italian dressing on top of them, and slid them into the oven, placing the potatoes next to them. "This'll take about an hour to bake. I'll make a salad to go with, when it's closer to being done. Are you going to work in the basement?"

"Thought I would. Why?"

"No reason. Gonna play the piano while it cooks. That should be relatively safe. Worst thing that could happen would be me falling off the bench." Gibbs just rolled his eyes again as he watched Tony amble out of the kitchen, then he headed down to his workroom.

While Gibbs puttered around in the basement, he could hear the sounds of the piano wafting down the stairs. When he heard the opening bars of Tony's favorite Bach piece, he stopped to listen. It didn't sound as full bodied as it usually did, and he realized it was probably because Tony was only playing with one hand. At least he hoped he was only playing with one hand. 'Damn,' he worried, 'should have thought of that.' It would be just like Tony to ignore Ducky's orders to let the hand rest for the weekend, so that the cuts had time to start healing. Clunking the rasp he was holding down on the counter, he headed up the stairs to check.

When he got to the den, there sat Tony, BOTH hands on the keys, playing away.

"Are you an idiot?" he erupted.

"That has been suggested," Tony said, as he stopped playing and swiveled around so that he could see Gibbs. "Why, what'd I do this time?"

"Didn't Ducky tell you to let that hand rest?" Gibbs demanded.

"Not gonna hurt it. The cuts are on the palm, not the fingers," Tony said defensively.

"That's not the point. If you move the hand too much, the cuts aren't going to heal. Do you want to be on desk duty for the next month?"

"Might be better for everyone - now that I'm doomed to 63 years of bad luck."

"Oh for Christ's sake! You aren't even going to live for 63 more years," Gibbs huffed in exasperation.

"My point exactly! And since I'm now doomed, it isn't safe to be around me."

"And how in the hell do you get 63 years, anyway?" Gibbs asked, curious despite himself.

"Seven years for every mirror. And that whole incident just proves that my luck has totally run out. Anyone else would have only broken a couple of mirrors."

"Tony, you ran straight into that entire stack of mirrors chasing Bergen. 200 lbs. of man, slamming into glass at full speed, was bound to break it, no matter who the person was," Gibbs pointed out.

"189 lbs," Tony humphed.

"195," Gibbs countered. "I know, it's been on top of me enough."

"Well, you know, if that's a problem for you…" Tony began.

"No, no problem," Gibbs laughed, as he wrapped his arms around Tony's shoulders and kissed the top of his head. When Tony relaxed and leaned back into him, he said, "Come on, let's go check on dinner." Tony stood, let Gibbs pull him in for a short kiss, and then followed him out.

"I'll set the table," Gibbs offered, as they got to the kitchen.

" 'Kay," Tony said absently, as he walked over to the oven, wondering why he couldn't smell anything. When he pulled the oven door open and looked in, he couldn't believe what he saw.

"Unfucking believable!!" Tony cursed, as he straightened back up and looked at the oven controls. "You can stop getting out the plates. I forgot to turn the oven on. Damn, damn, damn!"

Gibbs had to work hard not to laugh. Tony had worked himself into such a tizzy, that he was jinxing himself. No one who knew him would think that Tony was so incredibly superstitious, since he worked hard to cultivate a 'devil may care' attitude, but Gibbs knew better. Although a lapsed Catholic, Tony still carried a St. Christopher medal in his wallet, and even in the throes of passion, he always noted what side he got into bed on, so that he'd be sure to get out on the same side. Abby knew about how he felt, also. As a matter of fact, she had actually helped to magnify the problem. Once, she and Tony had spent an entire evening trying to outdo each other with their knowledge of odd and unusual superstitions. By the time the night was over, they had both been as jumpy as cats. And it had been Abby, today, who had looked at Tony in horror when she heard about his having smashed into a stack of mirrors, and exclaimed, "Oh My God! That is SO not good!" At which point, Tony had visibly cringed.

"Never mind. Put the chicken in the frig for tomorrow, and we'll call for Chinese," he managed to say.

"You dial. I'd probably order the wrong thing," Tony muttered, as he yanked the cold pan out of the oven and opened a drawer for the plastic wrap.

Suddenly Gibbs had an idea. "I'll call from the other room," he told Tony. "Need to grab my checkbook out of my jacket. Why don't you take a shower when you're done here. You'll feel better."

"We'll see," Tony mumbled, but after he'd gotten the chicken stowed away, he took himself off up the stairs.

Gibbs waited until he could hear the shower running, and then he called in their order to the Chinese restaurant they were regulars at. When they answered, he asked for Charlie, the owner. It took him longer than usual to place his order, but finally, inordinately pleased with himself, he hung up.

When the food arrived a half hour later, and Tony still hadn't come back down, Gibbs went to the bedroom in search of him, bag in hand. Walking into the bedroom, he saw Tony, sitting on the bed, covers pulled part way up his body, wearing only a pair of boxer briefs, reading a book. "Decided this was the safest place for me. Have the padding from the mattress and the covers to protect me," he joked.

"Well, I've got food, if you think you can risk the chance of getting burned," Gibbs teased back.

"That's a risk I'm willing to take. Bring it on." Tony pushed back the covers and patted on the bed next to him.

Together they sat on the bed, using the enclosed chopsticks while eating directly out of the containers. When they were done, Gibbs asked, "Want your fortune cookie?"

"I suppose, although I'm almost afraid to look," Tony sighed.

Reaching into the bag again, Gibbs pulled them out. "Huh, not wrapped. Wonder what's up with that? Charlie's getting sloppy," he commented, as he handed one to Tony. Tony didn't answer, as he cracked his cookie open and pulled out a small slip of paper.

"What's it say?" Gibbs asked, making sure to put a little trepidation into his voice.

Tony smiled a little. "Your luck is about to change."

"In bed," Gibbs said.

"What?" Tony asked, confused by the random comment.

"In bed. Your luck is about to change, 'in bed,'" Gibbs repeated, referencing the game that Abby and Tony sometimes played with fortunes cookies.

Tony laughed and then asked, "Tell me what yours says."

Gibbs opened his up, and smirked as he read, "Your luck is about to change."

"Oh, I think that can be arranged," Tony said, wiggling his eyebrows, a la Groucho Marx. He reached over and picked up the food bag that sat next to them, and placed it on the nightstand, then climbed over and straddled Gibbs' legs. "189 lbs. You weigh 195," he said, as he settled his weight down, and leaned in to kiss Gibbs.

"Maybe," Gibbs allowed, as he returned the kiss. Then he reached up, and in a well practiced maneuver, he flipped them over so he was lying on top of Tony. "After all, muscle weighs more than fat."

Tony squawked, but whether that was because of the comment, or due to the fact that Gibbs had reached down and fisted his cock through his underwear, was debatable. "That's not the way to get lucky, Jethro," he managed to grumble, although Tony was eagerly thrusting up into his hand, matching the rhythm of Gibbs' ministrations with the swaying of his hips.

"I'm willing to take my chances," the older man said, as he began to run his other hand across Tony's chest, making sure to tweak his distended nipples every time his hand passed by.

"Glad you are," Tony panted. "If I hadn't gotten that fortune we wouldn't be doing this. With the way my luck is going today, I'd have ended up pregnant."

"Think you're probably safe," Gibbs chuckled, changing his position and letting go of Tony long enough to pull the underpants off.

"Don't you think you're a tad overdressed?" Tony asked, then gasped when Gibbs' hot mouth encased his cock and Gibbs' skilled tongue tickled the underside of its head.

"I can stop and get naked if you want," he offered, releasing Tony for a second.

"It can wait," Tony groaned, after Gibbs resumed sucking on his dick. Reaching down, he slid the fingers of his right hand into the older man's hair, as if to prevent him from stopping what he was doing.

Finally, the sounds Tony was beginning to make warned of his imminent orgasm, and Gibbs slowly pulled away. Kissing the top of Tony's penis he said, "Hold that thought." Standing up, he quickly undressed and grabbed the lube from the drawer. After coating both his cock and his fingers, he eased himself back down between Tony's legs. As his fingers gently began to prepare Tony, stretching and sinking into his warmth, occasionally brushing against his prostate just to hear him mewl, he bent his head and suckled on Tony's nipples. Tony's good hand frantically clutched at his back.

"Enough. Enough already," Tony moaned. "No more teasing," he begged.

"No more?" Gibbs asked, looking up at Tony.

"No, please," Tony panted.

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Gibbs said, then he pulled out his fingers and replaced them with his cock, in one hard, steady thrust. Tony's legs immediately flew up and wrapped around him, locking them together and allowing Gibbs to sink in even deeper.

"Oh god," Gibbs breathed, as he lost himself in the sensation of hot flesh rubbing against hot flesh while he pistoned in and out. When he knew he couldn't hold on much longer, he reached down between them, and once again wrapped his hand around the top of Tony's cock. Moving his hand in time with their hips, he pushed himself into Tony once more, making sure to tag his sweet spot as he slid by. With a low keening sound, Tony convulsed from underneath him, as he came in wave after wave, his constricting muscles forcing Gibbs' own release. After they'd both come down from their high, and their breathing had begun to return to normal, Gibbs leaned down, capturing Tony's mouth in a lazy, hot kiss, then slowly and carefully withdrew himself from Tony's body. Gibbs kissed him once more, before climbing off the bed.

When they were both cleaned up, and tucked under the covers, Tony looked up from where he had his head resting on Gibbs' shoulder. "So, how'd you talk Charlie into changing the fortunes?"

Gibbs didn't bother denying it. He had known that Tony wouldn't really be fooled. "Promised him we'd both help him repair his checkout counter and front door tomorrow."

"What?" Tony objected loudly. "You thought that was a good idea? Me and power tools?"

"It'll be okay. After all, your luck has changed," Gibbs chuckled as he lowered his head towards Tony's.

"In bed," Tony grumbled, after the kiss was over.

Gibbs was still softly chuckling as he switched off the light, and then reached over and pulled Tony on top of him again. "Yep, definitely 195 lbs.," Gibbs whispered, as Tony spread himself out and began to run kisses up and down Gibbs' neck.

Tony just snorted, nipped gently, and then kissed away the sting.


End file.
